increases so rapidly as to make one dread to think what will be the next
race of Frenchmen. To the predilection for absinthe young Rameau and the
writers of his set add the imitation of Heine, after, indeed, the manner
of caricaturists, who effect a likeness striking in proportion as it is
ugly. It is not easy to imitate the pathos and the wit of Heine; but it
is easy to imitate his defiance of the Deity, his mockery of right and
wrong, his relentless war on that heroic standard of thought and action
which the writers who exalt their nation intuitively preserve. Rameau
cannot be a Heine, but he can be to Heine what a misshapen snarling dwarf
is to a mangled blaspheming Titan. Yet he interests the women in
general, and he evidently interests the fair Signorina in especial."

Just as Bacourt finished that last sentence, Isaura lifted the head which
had hitherto bent in an earnest listening attitude that seemed to justify
the Doctor's remarks, and looked round. Her eyes met Graham's with the
fearless candour which made half the charm of their bright yet soft
intelligence; but she dropped them suddenly with a half-start and a
change of colour, for the expression of Graham's face was unlike that
which she had hitherto seen on it,--it was hard, stern, and somewhat
disdainful. A minute or so afterwards she rose, and in passing across
the room towards the group round the host, paused at a table covered with
books and prints near to which Graham was standing alone. The Doctor had
departed in company with the German Count.

Isaura took up one of the prints.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "Sorrento, my Sorrento. Have you ever visited
Sorrento, Mr. Vane?"

Her question and her movement were evidently in conciliation. Was the